


Follow If Possible

by roqueamadi



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Post-Season/Series 07, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-07
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2019-01-30 15:36:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12656418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roqueamadi/pseuds/roqueamadi
Summary: Bronn had known since the dragon.It had begun before that - maybe a long time before - but he only realised it the moment he found himself jumping in front of a dragon to save the stupid idiot. Without even thinking. In that moment he realised Jaime was important to him (and not just financially).Post-season 7, Bronn follows Jaime north.You've tried Braime, now try some Brome! :D





	1. Chapter 1

Bronn had about two seconds.

He had just rounded a corner—he was in a small town, two days’ ride north on the Kingsroad—and he had finally caught up with Jaime.

That is, Jaime and the four Lannister soldiers who surrounded him, tugging him along by the irons on his ankles and wrist, ready to load him onto the wagon enforced with steel bars and take him straight back to King's Landing.

As usual, when it came to Jaime, Bronn acted without thinking.

Two of the men were dead within seconds, and the third panicked, trying to run, but didn’t escape Bronn’s thrown dagger.

The final man put up more of a fight, but it was still all over within moments and Jaime stood boredly watching as he died with a gurgle.

“About time you showed up,” he drawled. He jangled the irons. “Now get me out of these and we can be on our way—these four weren’t alone.”

Puffing, Bronn turned to Jaime. “Are you fucking joking?” he said, leaning on his sword a moment to catch his breath. _“About time?”_

“It’s been two days,” Jaime shrugged. “I thought you’d have caught up before now.”

“You do realise it was sheer luck I found you?” Bronn said slowly, incredulous.

“Luck?” Jaime repeated, screwing his face up.

“I had no idea which route you’d taken. And besides that, it’s not my job to read your mind and run after you like a nursemaid. Not to mention that you took my horse, _and_ my clothes.”

“Bronn—”

His voice was getting louder. He didn’t care. “I don’t know how hard it would have been to let me know what you were doing, since you obviously took the time to raid my rooms. You’re a spoiled little shit, you know that, Lannister?”

 _“Bronn,_ I left a note!”

“A _note_ ,” Bronn repeated blankly.

Jaime shrugged. “It seems you’ve found me without too much trouble, anyway,” he said easily.

Bronn had ridden through the night.

Twice.

“That one there has the keys in his pocket,” Jaime said, jangling the chains again. “Come on, we should get going.”

 

Bronn had known since the dragon.

It had begun before that—maybe a long time before—but he only realised it the moment he found himself jumping in front of a dragon to save the stupid idiot. Without even thinking. In that moment he realised Jaime was important to him (and not just financially).

He didn’t dwell on it. Hadn’t let himself follow the train of thought any further. Hadn’t let himself even label those feelings—didn’t _want_ to know. It’s not like thinking about it would help any.

He simply resigned himself to the fact that he would follow Jaime Lannister around as long as he was welcome, and keep him alive, and do pretty much anything else the cunt asked, since Bronn found it impossible to refuse him anything.

That night, Bronn rolled over on the hard ground and felt something in his pocket rustle. He reached in and pulled out a crumpled scrap of parchment. He held it up to the firelight and saw Jaime’s seven-year-old’s handwriting:

_Cersei lying_

_Going north to warn_

_Trust no-one_

_Be safe_

And then, in smaller writing at the bottom _:_

_Follow if possible_

He looked across at Jaime, already asleep and breathing slowly, and inexplicably felt his throat close up.

 

At Bronn’s urging, they proceeded north with a bit more caution, staying off the Kingsroad, and off all roads where possible.

It was slow going. The snow was falling regularly and it was getting colder. They tried to find well-hidden places to camp at night, but couldn’t go without a campfire, so Bronn was constantly worried about being spotted.

He was also worried about being heard, when he woke in the middle of the night a few days later to Jaime yelling out in his sleep.

It wasn’t the first time Bronn had experienced Jaime’s nightmares.

The first time was on the ship to Dorne. They were both sleeping on the floor of the hold, not exactly comfortable lodgings, and Bronn woke in the middle of the night to Jaime’s panicked voice, and his dagger was in his hand and he was on his feet in a second, before he realised there was no one there. Jaime’s head was rolling side to side and he was muttering unintelligibly, his breathing shallow as though he was in pain.

When Bronn realised it was just a nightmare, he sat back down next to Jaime and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Jaime, wake up,” he muttered, shaking him. “Jaime - _Jaime.”_ He was hard to wake. Bronn shook him a little harder, reaching forward to tap his cheek, and then Jaime’s eyes flew open and he yelled out in rage, and before Bronn knew what was happening he was on his back, clutching a hand to his eye where Jaime had struck it, and he scrabbled back further as Jaime sat staring shocked at him with no idea what he’d done or why he’d done it.

Bronn had a black eye for days.

He didn’t try that method the next time.

The next time, they were sneaking into Dorne, poorly disguised as guards, and sleeping on the beach in the most hidden spot Bronn could find, but still not very well hidden, so as soon as Jaime started muttering and groaning in his sleep, Bronn almost panicked.

Jaime was building towards yelling out, but if Bronn woke him he might yell even louder, and he sat there at a loss for what to do for a minute, then tried a different approach.

He leaned over Jaime and put a hand carefully on his arm. “Jaime,” he said quietly in his ear. “It’s alright. Calm down. It’s alright.”

At first he felt stupid, but then Jaime took a shuddering breath and seemed to calm a little—it seemed to be working—so he didn’t stop.

Bronn got good at it. It happened several times during their adventure together, and Bronn got to a point where he just rolled over and wrapped his arms around him and pulled Jaime’s back to his chest, and sometimes he even hummed softly in his ear, and once or twice he may have ran a hand through his hair, soothingly, because that worked the fastest.

Seeing Jaime in pain was something Bronn’s heart couldn’t take, but being so close to him like that was almost as bad, and it almost killed him every morning when Jaime woke and looked at Bronn like _he_ was the strange one for waking up tangled together.

And now, in the light of the small campfire and with Jaime groaning and shuddering in his sleep, Bronn squeezed his eyes shut tightly for a moment, knowing he _was_ going to help Jaime the same way now, but also knowing he was signing his own death warrant doing it.

 

Two weeks into the journey and it was getting really cold, especially at night. It was risky to light a fire, but they couldn’t do without it. Even with it, it wasn’t enough.

Jaime lay down in his bed roll and Bronn could distinctly hear his teeth chattering already. “It’s fucking freezing,” Jaime complained.

“You’re the one who decided to come up here,” Bronn reminded him.

A moment later, he got the sense he was being stared at, and turned to face Jaime’s expectant expression.

“What?”

“Are you going to— you know,” Jaime said, a little uncomfortable.

“What?” Bronn repeated blankly.

“Come over here? You do, sometimes, when it’s cold.”

Bronn stared at him for a moment before sitting up on his elbow. “When it’s _cold?_ Is _that_ what you think that is?”

Jaime’s expression was blank. “It’s not?”

Bronn shook his head, incredulous. “Jaime… It’s because you have terrible nightmares.”

Jaime’s eyes shifted away from Bronn’s. “How do you…”

“Because you yell. Loudly.”

Jaime looked a little pale. “I do?”

Bronn nodded, still surprised Jaime wasn’t aware of this. “The first time I saw it happen, you punched me in the eye. Remember?”

“I…”

“You did that when I tried to wake you. I didn’t try _that_ again. The only thing that’ll get you to calm down is me —” he waved a hand, “—you know.”

“Oh.”

Jaime was embarrassed. Bronn relented.

“You can come over here and we’ll be a bit warmer," he said gruffly. "Stupid to be camping outside in this weather as it is.”

Jaime moved his bedroll over next to Bronn, who was determined to make this as non-intimate as possible, so just pushed Jaime onto his side, away from him, and put an arm around his ribs, his hand in a fist, and put his chest to Jaime’s back but nothing else.

Jaime seemed satisfied with this, tugging his blankets up over them both and settling in.

“Do you think she’ll be glad to see me, Bronn?” Jaime asked quietly just as Bronn was almost drifting off.

“Hm? Who?”

“Brienne.”

Bronn sighed. “Has there been a woman alive who wasn’t glad to see you, Lannister?” he grumbled, and they went to sleep.

 

When they were close to Winterfell, Bronn tried hard—over several conversations—to convince Jaime to hang back while Bronn went ahead to get a feel for the place and get some idea of how Jaime might be received, but the conversations got shorter and shorter.

As the turrets finally came into view over the horizon, Bronn said, “Just let me—”

 _“Bronn,”_ Jaime said sharply, his lips pressed together resolutely, and Bronn sighed with resignation and followed him up to the gate.

As he expected, Sansa Stark took one look at Jaime Lannister and threw him straight in a cell.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The above warnings (and angst warning!) apply to this chapter.

Bronn went through his own period of gruelling questioning but luckily for him Podrick Payne was at Winterfell - he had stayed behind with the flu while Brienne went on a patrol - and Pod readily spoke for him. Bronn was given leave to remain at Winterfell freely, as long as he bent the knee to the dragon queen when she arrived, which he was fine with.

Jaime remained in a cell, and Bronn tried twice to convince the guards to let him in to speak to him, but he wasn’t allowed.

 

Brienne arrived back from patrol a few days later. Bronn approached her before she had even dismounted her horse and he told her everything, including the fact that Jaime had done all of this for her and that she owed him.

Then he figured he’d done everything he could for the stupid twat and left it alone.

But he knew Brienne went to see Jaime in the cells.

And he heard that later that evening that she had gone to plead Jaime’s case directly to Sansa, and that a reprieve on probation was granted, and that Jaime was freed, and that he and the Maid of Tarth were very happy, and it almost killed Bronn.

 

The dragon queen and her retinue arrived the next day. Or so Bronn heard from the men who came in and out of the alehouse in the growing winter town along Winterfell’s walls. He had been there for at least 24 hours and had barely stopped drinking long enough to draw breath when Tyrion slid into the booth opposite him and ordered himself an ale.

“You're looking very sorry for yourself,” Tyrion said by way of greeting. Bronn couldn't be fucked dealing with him right now, and tried to pretend he wasn't there.

“The barman tells me you've been here a long time,” Tyrion said, snatching Bronn's pitcher from under his nose and downing it in one gulp.

“You'll pay for that, you little shit,” Bronn growled and Tyrion just frowned at him as though he was a mildly interesting puzzle to figure out.

“I hear you arrived with my dear brother,” Tyrion said eventually, watching Bronn's face carefully for reactions. “...And I hear my brother is now apparently very happy. And you are opposite. What could be going on here?”

Tyrion’s voice was sarcastic enough that Bronn figured he had already guessed, but valiantly rolled his eyes.

“What's your cunt of a brother got to do with anything,” he muttered, not fooling Tyrion even slightly.

“It sounds to me like a classic romantic tale,” Tyrion said in his dramatic storytelling voice. “Sellsword meets a _beautiful_ princess - well, almost. Sellsword falls in love. Princess remains blissfully ignorant. Sellsword is depressed-”

Bronn lunged across the table towards Tyrion’s neck, but he slid smoothly out of reach.

“If you don’t _shut up-”_

“Alright, alright, I apologise,” Tyrion relented, and he let Bronn have his fresh ale before prodding him to his feet and out of the alehouse.

 

It was only a few weeks later when Winterfell was set upon by a large contingent of the white walker army. Everyone able to hold a sword went out to meet them, and it was a hard fight, lasting through the night until the next day dawned.

Bronn had gone into a pure battle trance for hours. He was tired enough that he could have fallen asleep on his feet but he knew stopping meant dying, so he pushed through it and kept going. As the light of the false dawn grew, the sheer scale of the battle was made evident. His face was sticky, after being splattered with blood and mud all night. His clothes were a bloody torn mess. He could barely grip his hastily-forged dragonglass sword, there was so much blood on the hilt, and he vaguely noted that it was probably his blood, since the enemy didn’t bleed.

The last of the wights were being set aflame and Bronn drew to a halt as the red haze of battle faded from his eyes and the weariness struck him and the sound returned to his ears with a _whumph_ that nearly knocked him flat - the sounds of a battlefield after the battle is done, something no one ever wanted to hear.

His next thought, as usual, was Jaime.

He had lost track of him during the night. He had half a thought to try to stick by him, but he had the big woman looking out for him - he didn’t need Bronn. Now, however, he started wandering among the fallen, stepping over random limbs and spewed guts and many small fires burning out.

He spotted Pod in the distance, perhaps two hundred meters away, and he was clearly fussing with something on the ground, so Bronn headed in that direction. When he got closer, he almost wished he hadn’t started looking.

The big woman - Brienne - lay glassy-eyed in the dirt, and her blood had stopped flowing long ago, but she had clearly gone down fighting. Pod was sobbing on his knees next to her. Bronn grasped the boy’s shoulder.

“She’s cold,” Pod whimpered, her hand clasped in his, and Bronn nodded.

“She fought bravely, Pod,” he said. “And she died doing what she was meant to be doing. No one can ask more than that.”

Pod nodded, but tears were still streaming down his face. Bronn pulled him to his feet. “Have you seen Jaime?” he asked, terrified of the answer, but Pod shook his head.

“He might be nearby,” the lad suggested, and Bronn nodded.

“Help me find him.”

Cold steel had settled in his heart already. If the woman had gone down, Jaime would have been left more or less defenceless - Bronn knew his skill with his left hand was nowhere near enough for a battle like this - and he readied himself. Or he tried to. Every man he turned over, he told himself, _it’s going to be Jaime_ , hoping that when the time actually came, it would be less of a shock, he would be able to continue functioning.

But when Pod yelled out, “Over here!” and crouched down by one of the bodies, Bronn almost threw up right then and there, and he knew he couldn’t do it. He made his way over - his legs felt like they were made of wood, and his head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, watching as Pod rolled a body over onto its back, and it had blonde hair streaked with blood and dirt, and Bronn felt the ground moving up to meet him, but then his knees hit it first - and then Jaime coughed and groaned and the world snapped back into focus.

Bronn grabbed him, swiping the mud away from his mouth so he could breathe, and looking frantically down his body for injuries. It was too hard to tell at a glance with all the mud and the blood could be anyone’s, but-

“He’s alive,” Pod said through his tears, and Bronn nodded mutely, getting his breathing under control for a moment before scooping Jaime up in his arms - and Bronn by rights shouldn’t be able to carry someone as heavy as Jaime, but he did it anyway - and carried him straight to the maester.

 

Jaime had broken several ribs and lost a lot of blood from many cuts, but nothing more serious. The blood loss was the main reason he remained barely conscious for several hours, and Pod helped Bronn take him to his room, strip off his ruined clothes, clean him up and get him into bed.

“Do you think he knows about Brienne?” Pod asked, sitting and staring into space across the room. Bronn was trying to feed a little more water past Jaime’s lips, as he’d been doing periodically for the last few hours as he sat by his bedside.

“We’ll know when he wakes up.”

“If he doesn’t, will you tell him?”

Bronn hesitated. A memory flashed through his mind. He wasn’t sure he could do that again. This time would be even worse. Then again, would he leave the job to someone else? No.

Bronn nodded. “I’ll tell him.”

 

Bronn had been the one to respond first to Jaime’s yells from the princess’ cabin after they left Dorne the first time. He broke one of the hinges bursting through the door and took everything in with one glance - Jaime kneeling on the floor with his daughter dead in his arms, no sign of intruders - Bronn sheathed his sword and hurried forward to check the girl for signs of life. As soon as he got close and saw the blood and caught the scent of the poison on the girl’s lips, he recognised it, and sat back on his heels, knowing there was nothing to be done.

“That Ellaria Sand cunt,” he muttered, “when she kissed-”

Jaime was nodding. He didn't need Bronn to explain.

The guards burst through the door. Bronn stood to explain what had happened. They sent orders for the ship to be turned around. Jaime knelt mutely clutching the girl’s body to his chest. But he couldn’t hold her forever.

Eventually it came time for them to take Myrcella away, but Jaime wouldn't let go of her. The guard looked to Bronn for help, and so then Bronn had to be the one to pry Jaime away from his daughter's body.

It almost killed Bronn to do it.

They took her away, and he tried to pull Jaime to his feet, but he wouldn't go, and then his face was pressed into Bronn's shoulder and his chest was heaving with gasping sobs and Bronn put his arms around him and held him for a long time.

 

Pod had gone to find his own bed by the time Jaime awoke. Bronn snapped instantly out of his slumber and sat forward as Jaime’s eyes blinked open, and reached quickly for the water to pass it to him. Jaime moved his arm to take the cup but then groaned at the movement and his face contorted in pain.

Bronn pushed his hand gently away and moved across to the edge of his bed. He sat and lifted Jaime’s head gently, bringing the cup to his lips. After a few sips, he set it aside and Jaime looked up at him.

“Did we win?” he asked, voice hoarse.

“Wouldn’t be here if we hadn’t,” Bronn pointed out.

Jaime glanced around the room, and Bronn knew it was coming, and his stomach clenched.

“Brienne… Did Brienne…?”

He looked back to Bronn, and saw the look in his eyes straight away.

“Sh-she’s hurt?” he asked, almost hopeful.

Bronn took a deep breath, and shook his head, and said gently, “She didn’t make it, Jaime.”

He watched the emotions flick quickly across his face - shock, denial, disbelief - and then his face crumpled.

“You’re sure?”

“Pod found her.”

Jaime forced himself up into a sitting position, ignoring the pain, drawing his knees up and dropping his forehead onto them.

“How long… when…?”

“She went down fighting. She didn’t see the end of the battle.”

Jaime nodded, and tried to compose himself, but they both knew that wasn’t going to happen

“Bronn…”

“I know.”

He was digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. His back was heaving.

“I can’t - I never even-”

Bronn’s heart clenched - he forced down the lump in his throat - and he put a hand on Jaime’s back. The small touch seemed to be enough to send him over the edge, and a small moan left his lips as his shoulders started shaking. Bronn slid forward slowly, wrapping his arm around Jaime, ready to move back if Jaime threw him off - which he knew he might do - but instead Jaime turned to him, tears streaking his face, and grasped at Bronn’s tunic desperately, and dropping his head on Bronn’s shoulder.

Bronn had to take a few deep breaths - it wouldn’t be remotely helpful if he broke down too - and put his other hand on the back of Jaime’s neck.

_“Bronn…”_ Jaime sobbed brokenly into his shoulder.

“I’m here,” he said, and ran his hand up and down Jaime’s back, but he didn’t say ‘I’m sorry’ or ‘don’t worry’ or ‘it’s alright’, because it wasn’t.

And it almost killed him.

 

Time passed.

 

Jaime recovered - physically - and Winterfell settled in for a long war. A pattern of rotating patrols and occasional skirmishes became their whole lives.

It was dangerous. The wights were all over the place, and their numbers never abated. When they were at Winterfell, they cared for their wounded and counted their food supplies and shared their rooms with at least one other person to save on firewood.

Jaime went from miserable to depressed to downright wretched and there was nothing Bronn could do to snap him out of it. Bronn found himself becoming more reckless during the skirmishes than he had been even as a young man, but he couldn’t help it; fighting for his life was now the only time he felt alive.

The wights’ numbers never dwindled but Winterfell seemed to be mourning the loss of more warriors every month. At least that meant the food would last a little longer.

 

Almost a year passed in this pattern.

 

Then, one day, a wight’s sword made a direct path for Jaime’s neck, and Jaime hadn’t seen it coming, and Bronn leaped - and that was that.


	3. Chapter 3

Or so he thought.

He wasn’t dead, because he hurt like fuck and every now and then a snippet of the world filtered through his senses. Flashes of light and colour, bursts of sound, sensations of heat or cold or pain that rolled over him momentarily before the darkness crept back again. He wondered if this was what it would be like for the rest of his life.

But gradually it improved, and then finally he came through the mist of his senses for longer than a few seconds, and looked around, and he was back in his room at Winterfell, and there was a fire in the hearth, and there were yelling voices out in the hallway.

He recognised them. It was Jaime and Tyrion.

“...what do you…” came Jaime’s voice, and then, “...my _friend…_ ”

“… answered your own question, you blind fool…” Tyrion yelled back.

“ _What_?”

Bronn tried to lift his head to hear, but pain shot through his body, and he let it drop back to the pillow. Tyrion’s voice was growing louder again. “...more of a selfish idiot than I thought, and I thought you were pretty damn selfish before.”

“ _I’m_ selfish? Me? Who was the one who risked everything to save your life, only for you to throw it back in my face?”

“Seven hells, Jaime, don’t start on that again. I’m talking about _Bronn_.”

“Despite how many words you’ve used, you still haven’t made a single point!”

“I have; you’re just too dimwitted to see it.”

“You know who you sound like?”

“Jaime - don’t! Don’t go back in there.”

_“Why?”_

The voices dropped lower, and Bronn tried to hear, but couldn’t catch anything distinct. It went on for another minute and then someone stomped off down the hall. A moment later, the door opened, and Tyrion came in. Bronn watched him as he crossed the room to pour a cup of wine. He expression was furious.

“What was that about?” Bronn asked, his voice like sandpaper, and Tyrion almost spilled the wine all over himself.

“You’re awake!” he exclaimed, hurrying over to him.

“You’d have to be dead to sleep through that racket,” he grumbled, and took a sip as Tyrion held the wine to his lips.

“It was nothing,” Tyrion said reassuringly. “A small disagreement between brothers.”

Bronn wanted to tell him to pull the other leg, but talking was becoming hard again, and the last thing he knew, Tyrion was calling for the maester.

 

Next time Bronn woke, he was in a different room and he was being tended to by a rather pretty girl. He found out over the course of the day that he’d been moved from Jaime’s room to Tyrion’s, and that Tyrion had specifically approached this girl and asked her to come and help tend him (she was one of the bannermen’s daughters sent to Winterfell for arms training, though she was progressing very slowly, she said).

He found out that he had somehow managed to block the sword meant for Jaime with his leg, and the wound was very bad, but the maester thought he would at the least keep the leg.

When he saw Tyrion, he asked after Jaime, and Tyrion just scowled and said, “My brother isn’t nearly good enough for you, Bronn,” and refused to hear any more about it.

Bronn didn’t see Jaime at all.

His heart felt like a stone in his chest.

 

A month passed. Bronn would have gone stir-crazy lying in bed all day waiting for his leg to heal, but he had Tyrion and the girl to entertain him - well, he talked to the girl, but she didn’t entertain him in the way he knew Tyrion intended - and finally he was able to start trying to walk again.

With a crutch under one arm and a hand on the parapets, he made laps up and down a section of the wall each morning, sweat rolling down his face as he tried to build the muscles in his legs back up, and one morning he was struggling along in the weak sunlight, focussed on nothing but his feet as he tried to get them to move right, when he looked up and suddenly Jaime was there. He was standing in front of him, taking him in with a sweep of his eyes, and almost smiling.

Bronn didn’t know what to say, but seeing him again was like warm water being dumped over his head after a month out in the cold, and he stood for a long moment with a dry throat, not sure what to say.

Finally, he waved at the bench a few meters away and said, “Well, don’t just stand there, give me a hand.”

Jaime stepped forward and pulled Bronn’s arm around his shoulder, replacing the crutch, and helped him the final few steps to the bench, where Bronn sank down with relief.

Jaime hovered over him a moment, watching with dismay as he rubbed at his leg. “Is it…”

“The maester says it’ll heal,” Bronn said, and Jaime slumped on the bench next to him, looking relieved.

It’s awkward. Bronn glanced across at him, and Jaime’s expression was more open and vulnerable than it had been for months, and Bronn’s eyes slid away, not wanting to see what was behind it. He was about to haul himself up again and make an escape when Jaime finally spoke.

“I missed you,” he said, with a slight frown as though he was unsure if he should say it, and even that was enough to make Bronn’s breath catch in his throat a little, and he was disgusted with himself. Fortunately, it seemed it wasn’t necessary for him to reply.

 

Jaime didn’t come to see him in the room - he suspected the girl was under strict instructions not to let him anywhere near it - but now that Bronn was mobile again, Tyrion’s control over him - and whatever he had been trying to achieve - evaporated.

Jaime started meeting Bronn on the wall each morning, walking the slow laps with him up and down, and they talked.

It was different. Jaime was - attentive? For most of the past year, he had been distant, sullen, drawn inside himself, but all that was fading now. He was more like he’d been when Bronn first met him, not long after he lost his hand, and the same kind of uncertainty lingered about him now.

It wasn’t the hand this time - he was, if not comfortable, at least used to that by now. It was something else.

For one thing, Bronn tried resolutely to ignore the fact that Jaime seemed to touch him a lot. Had he done that before? He didn’t think so. Bronn’s leg made it hard to tell whether the touches were necessary or not, because Jaime was often throwing his arm around Bronn’s shoulders or sliding an arm around his waist to support him, or grasping his hand to help him up from a seat or grasping his elbow to ease him down into one.

And Bronn couldn’t be annoyed because he was perfectly aware that he _did_ push himself too hard, his leg often ached and gave out, but he wanted to push because he wanted to heal faster, and if Jaime wanted to be there to catch him whenever he stumbled, then Bronn wasn’t going to complain about that.

Bronn also tried not to notice how, at the one year memorial service for the battle where Brienne had been killed, Jaime stood pressed up next to Bronn, his left hand clamped hard around Bronn’s forearm, and it slipped a little lower towards the end of the service, and Bronn curled his fingers up slightly to brush Jaime’s.

Or how, when all the rooms got reshuffled again to make way for more troops arriving, Bronn somehow ended up sharing with Jaime again, and Jaime innocently said he had nothing to do with it.

 

Bronn was relieved to return his stuff - only one bag, but still - to his old room. When they were first assigned here, he had been happy to let the other man take the large bed in the middle of the room, while Bronn took the extra single bed that had been added in along one wall, and Jaime tried to convince him to swap when he arrived with his one bag, but Bronn just rolled his eyes and crossed to his old bed.

“Who were you sharing with before?” Bronn asked as he hung his sword up.

Jaime looked over at him. “No one,” he said, as though surprised at the question. Bronn considered this as he sat on his old familiar bed, leaning back against the wall, his legs stretched out.

“So what was the argument about?”

“Hmm?”

Bronn had the feeling Jaime was being deliberately vague, apparently distracted with studying a hole in one of his tunics over the other side of the room, and scowled. “You and Tyrion had a shouting match in the hall the day I woke up, and after that I got moved to Tyrion’s rooms. What was the argument about?”

“...It was nothing,” Jaime said reluctantly, avoiding his gaze.

“Then why did I get moved?”

Jaime shrugged innocently. “Tyrion wanted to take care of you himself. He thought I wouldn’t do a good enough job.”

“And Tyrion’s an expert in caring for the wounded now, is he?”

“Apparently.”

 

Jaime had a nightmare that night, and Bronn got up and crossed to his bed to slide in behind him and calm him down, like he’d done every time during the previous year, and like those times, he waited twenty minutes before easing his way out again, Jaime never waking once through the whole process and never needing to know it had even happened.

Only this time, even though Bronn was as careful as he ever was, Jaime woke.

Bronn had almost extricated himself and then froze, still halfway under the covers when he glanced back and Jaime had rolled on his back and his eyes were open, watching Bronn.

“...You were yelling,” Bronn said awkwardly, and Jaime’s eyes slid away, embarrassed.

Bronn paused where he was, half in and half out of the bed, unsure what was happening.

Finally Jaime spoke. “The guards broke down the door last week,” he admitted, “when you weren’t here. I woke up half the people in this wing.” He glanced up at Bronn. “They thought I was being eaten by a direwolf.”

Bronn snorted and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, but paused there, looking back at Jaime.

“What do you dream about?” he asked. He’d never asked Jaime that before, but he’d always wondered.

Jaime shrugged awkwardly, looking down at his hand. “Battle. Blood. Wights. My hand. My mother. My father. Cersei. Brienne. You.”

“Me?” Bronn said without thinking.

Jaime nodded. “When you were injured, I… I thought I’d lost you.” He met Bronn’s eyes then, and Bronn didn’t know what to say to that, except for something rude, but he kept his mouth closed.

“We all have those dreams,” he said instead. “Yours are just louder.”

Jaime nodded with a reluctant smile as Bronn patted him twice briskly on the thigh before getting to his feet.

As he was settling back into his own bed, Jaime’s voice came softly across the dark room, “Thank you, Bronn,” and Bronn thought it was the first time those three words had ever passed the man’s lips, and he lay with eyes wide open the rest of the night with the words echoing around his head.

 

The next day was one where Bronn knew he had pushed his leg too far, but he couldn’t quite get away from the meetings without drawing attention to himself, and he didn’t want anyone to think he wasn’t already almost healed.

He knew Jaime was watching, so he tried to keep up the act all the way back to the room, but he didn’t even make it to the door. He had no control over it - his leg just switched off and suddenly turned into jelly, and he stumbled.

Jaime caught him, not even acting surprised, and slipped his arm around Bronn’s waist. He helped him through the door and across to his bed and lowered him down. Bronn groaned as he sat on the edge of the bed. His leg was aching all the way down. He rubbed at it feebly, breathing hard through his nose.

Jaime turned to close the door behind them and hang up his sword belt, and frowned across at Bronn.

“You push yourself too hard,” he said, and Bronn didn't have a comment for that. Jaime crossed the room and picked up the jar the Maester had left, holding it up to the light.

“Have you even used any of this? The Maester told you to rub it in every day. It helps your muscles recover.”

Bronn just shook his head. “It'll be fine,” he growled.

“It will help,” Jaime urged. “I've used this sometimes,” he said, indicating his stump. Then suddenly he stepped forward. _“I_ can do it,” he said, almost eagerly.

“No, you don't need to-”

Jaime had already sat down next to him on the bed. “Lie down and take those off,” Jaime instructed, meaning Bronn’s breeches, and Bronn shook his head frantically.

“No, Jaime, it’s fine-”

Jaime just put a hand on Bronn's shoulder and pushed him gently back onto the bed, and Bronn groaned at the movement, unable to resist as Jaime lifted Bronn’s legs onto the bed, shifting around and setting his left leg across his lap, his right leg behind him. Bronn couldn’t look. He threw an arm over his eyes and tried not to focus on what was happening. Jaime was going to kill him.

“Relax,” Jaime’s voice reached his ears, soothing. “I know it hurts.” And Bronn just groaned, but it wasn’t from pain.

Jaime unlaced his boot and tugged it free, tossing it on the floor, then tugged at the cuff of Bronn’s breeches and hooked his right arm under his knee, helping him lift it, and eased his injured left leg out of the pant leg.

Bronn finally looked down long enough to bundle the fabric up over his groin, hoping Jaime wouldn’t notice, but the other man had Bronn’s bare leg across his lap and Bronn jumped as he ran a finger gently down the length of the almost-healed wound. It went all the way down his outer thigh.

“It will certainly be an impressive scar,” Jaime said, glancing up at him, and Bronn threw his arm over his face again.

He heard Jaime unscrewing the jar and then gasped as his fingers returned to Bronn’s thigh covered in the cold salve. He worked slowly at the muscle, rubbing firmly, and Bronn lay there frozen, his jaw clamped tight, just hoping to survive this without embarrassing himself, but when Jaime worked his thumb into the inner side of his quad, Bronn let out a completely involuntary noise, somewhere between a moan and a whimper, and Jaime hesitated.

“Is it too hard?” he asked.

“Nope,” Bronn said tightly.

“You don’t seem very relaxed,” Jaime said flatly.

Bronn let his arm drop so he could glare at Jaime, but the other man had already returned his focus to his task. Bronn let his head flop back against the pillow.

“You shouldn’t have done it, you know,” Jaime said quietly after a pause.

“Done what?”

“Leaped in front of me to take that sword.”

“If I hadn’t, it would have been lodged so far into your spine they’d have had to bury you with it,” Bronn muttered harshly. He didn’t want to go down this path with Jaime right now. When he got no immediate response, he looked down again.

Jaime’s gaze was fixed on his task, his forehead creased in a frown, and then he added quietly, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For the way I treated you.”

“You didn’t tell me to jump in front of the sword,” Bronn muttered resignedly, staring up at the ceiling.

“I mean, in the past. You always did everything I asked, anything I asked, and I treated you like shit. I don’t deserve your friendship.”

Bronn didn’t know what to say to that. They both lapsed into silence for several minutes while Jaime worked his way slowly down Bronn’s leg. The ache was fading as he worked, and he continued past his knee and down his calf, which Bronn appreciated - and he was asleep before Jaime even finished.


	4. Chapter 4

A few weeks later, plans were being laid for a dangerous sortie north of Winterfell to thin the wights’ numbers, and Bronn put his name down for the patrol. However, when the groups were announced, he wasn’t included, and he found out from the clerk that his name had been removed from the list.

“Add me back in,” he growled. “I’m going on this one.”

The clerk’s eyes widened but it wasn’t at Bronn. He turned and found Jaime standing at his shoulder, his jaw already set.

“You’re not going. I took your name off the list.” He made to brush past him, but Bronn grabbed his arm.

“You can’t stop me,” he said, forcing Jaime to meet his eyes. “Fighting is what I’m _meant_ for. I’m not going to just sit on my arse and wait for you to come back.”

“You’re still injured, Bronn!” Jaime exclaimed, waving at Bronn’s leg, and other people were starting to look at them so Bronn dragged Jaime out into the hallway and they argued.

They yelled, actually.

“I don’t understand where this is coming from!” Bronn yelled at the height of it. “What am I here for if not to fight?”

“I’m scared to lose you, alright?” Jaime yelled back. “After the last time, I just can’t go through that again.”

“ _You_ can’t go through that again? What about _me?_ I get to just sit here and watch you ride out to very likely death?”

“You can and you will. You’d be better off without me anyway. I’ve never brought you anything but… pain and danger, and you’re much better off looking after yourself. I could never even fulfil any of the promises I made you - _Bronn!”_

Bronn was already stalking off.

 

Bronn didn’t speak to Jaime for the rest of the day, and returned to the room well after midnight, walking in right as Jaime was crying out in his sleep. Bronn was immediately flooded with guilt that he hadn’t returned earlier, that he’d let Jaime get to the point of actually crying out from his nightmares - whatever they were.

Bronn hurried to shed his boots and outer clothes quickly and slid in behind him, murmuring, “Jaime, it’s alright, I’m here,” and wiping the sweat off his forehead, and he didn’t sleep at all the entire night, just lay there holding Jaime tight and hoping it wouldn’t be the last time.

 

He stood amongst the others - the too old, too young, and too wounded - the next morning as the patrol rode out. They hadn’t quite been able to say anything to each other before he left, but Jaime looked back at Bronn before he disappeared through the gates, his eyes intense with sadness and something like longing.

Bronn spent the next several days unable to sit still for more than ten minutes, trying half-heartedly to steel himself for the imminent news of Jaime’s fall, but unable to even pretend.

And then the infuriating man rode back through the gates with most of the patrol intact one evening, looking tired and dirty but otherwise _fine_ , and Jaime dismounted and walked straight over to him, past all the others, and embraced him, and Bronn felt like he could breathe properly for the first time in days.

Jaime squeezed tightly for a moment, and then drew back slightly, their faces close together, and he had a look in his eyes that made Bronn’s stomach flip over, and he almost thought Jaime might be about to kiss him - but that was ridiculous.

He pulled back, and the look faded from Jaime’s eyes.

“How are you?” he asked, and Bronn rolled his eyes.

“I’ve been sitting on my arse, you’re the one who’s been out on patrol. How are _you?”_

And they fell into their normal conversation.

 

Bronn’s leg soon improved enough that he could start training again.

Jaime eagerly agreed to be his sparring partner, but Bronn almost regretted asking as soon as they began and he saw how much Jaime had improved since they’d last sparred. Bronn, in comparison, was extremely slow and stiff after several months of inactivity.

Jaime was positively delighted at this change in their relationship, beating Bronn over and over and laughing, and Bronn grew more and more annoyed, and continued well beyond the point where he sensibly should have stopped on his first day back at training.

He scoffed when Jaime disarmed him in a particularly impressive move, well beyond the point now of being able to be happy for the other man’s achievements. He was just pissed.

“You don’t have to look pretty as well, you twat, there’s no girls watching,” he growled.

“There might be some,” Jaime said, glancing around the busy training yards. “Some of them are probably in line to inherit a keep or a castle - should I find out?”

Bronn snatched his sword off the ground and pressed forward with a sequence of strikes which Jaime easily defended. He was gasping for air. Jaime looked like he was taking an afternoon stroll.

“If one of them does have a castle, perhaps I should flirt with her for you? You seem a bit out of touch.”

Bronn had no idea what Jaime was on about, and didn’t reply, just tried to keep breathing as Jaime moved him around the training yard, his memory of correct footwork technique not quite enough for his body to keep up with it.

“I mean, I haven’t seen you with any kind of woman for ages. Why is that?”

Bronn growled as he blocked Jaime’s next thrust. “If you remember correctly, you took my betrothed away from me.”

Jaime rolled his eyes. “That was Cersei, not me.”

“At _your_ suggestion. You didn’t want me tied down, so that I’d be able to come with you to Dorne.”

“I had nothing to do with that,” Jaime frowned. “I would have liked nothing better than to see you happily married to - what was her name? - Lollys Stokeworth, that’s the one.” He was teasing now, and had Bronn locked down, his back to the rail. Bronn pushed against him but Jaime’s left arm was stronger than it had ever been, and Bronn could barely hold the blade back from his own nose. “Why, by now you could have had three children by her and be happily growing fat in the south, nowhere near this dreadful place, and without me to annoy you-”

Bronn hit him.

He surprised himself. He wasn’t quite sure where it came from. Jaime stumbled back, dropping his sword, his hand going to his jaw.

“Bronn…”

Bronn threw his sword down and turned to leave. Jaime hurried after him, grabbing his arm. Bronn threw him off.

“Bronn, wait-”

“Fuck off, Jaime.”

“I’m sorry,” Jaime said, and the words would never cease to sound strange in his mouth. Bronn reluctantly drew to a halt and half-turned back to Jaime. “I didn’t mean it.”

Bronn took a breath, wiping sweat off his forehead, and glanced up at Jaime’s face, which was genuinely remorseful.

“What did your brother say to you after I was injured?”

Jaime rolled his eyes. “That again, Bronn?”

Bronn narrowed his eyes, and shook his head, and stalked past Jaime to retrieve his sparring sword from the ground, then turned toward the armory. The grounds were almost completely deserted now the sun had set, and it was growing dark.

He went into the long building and sensed Jaime hurrying behind him. He ignored him. He didn’t want to deal with… whatever this was. He replaced the sword on the rack and turned to leave, but Jaime was blocking the door.

Bronn scowled. “You can either answer the question, or get out of the way.”

“You really want to know?”

Bronn spread his hands. “Why else would I keep asking?”

“He told me… He told me to stay away from you.”

“Why?”

Jaime gritted his teeth and then sighed. “He told me… he said I’d break your heart, so I should stay away.”

Bronn’s eyebrows shot up. It wasn’t what he had expected.

“You haven’t stayed away,” Bronn pointed out, and Jaime’s eyes met his, suddenly intense, and he shook his head slightly.

“No.”

Bronn wasn’t sure what was happening, and wasn’t entirely certain Jaime wasn’t still just teasing him, so he tried to push past him through the doorway, but Jaime snagged a finger in his belt, and Bronn drew to a halt again, still turned away from him, trying to ignore the fact that his breathing was growing shallow.

“What, you think you can just start being nice to me now for the first time in your life and that will be enough to - to woo me like some maid?” Bronn growled.

And he tried to resist, but Jaime very gently moved him back against the wall, and Bronn went, nervously watching Jaime’s gently smiling face.

Jaime put his hand against the wall beside Bronn’s head, and slowly let his forehead drop against Bronn’s, and they stood close together but barely touching for a moment, Jaime’s breathing a little fast, then Jaime tilted his head a little and pressed a soft kiss against the corner of Bronn’s mouth.

Bronn’s eyes closed.

“I won’t break your heart,” Jaime said softly, and kissed again, closer. “I’m sorry for everything I put you though,” he said, and kissed again, against Bronn’s lower lip. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, and this time Bronn met his lips.

Their lips pressed together and Jaime gave a small muffled moan that was enough to have Bronn rock hard by itself, and Jaime dropped his hand down to Bronn’s hip, holding him in place, and pressed his body against Bronn’s, pinning him to the wall.

Bronn could feel himself almost melting, and it was too much, and he knew there was no going back from this, for him, for his heart, and he was suddenly terrified. What if Jaime kissed him now, had some fun now, and then later grew tired of it and cast him aside? He couldn’t go through it again.

Jaime drew back, sensing something was wrong, and looked slightly down - he was a little taller - into Bronn’s eyes, questioning.

Bronn had to fight against every instinct to make himself put his hand on Jaime’s chest and push him gently away, and then he stalked out of the armory into the night, and didn’t look back.


	5. Chapter 5

Bronn spent several hours hiding at the back of the stables with a wineskin, agonising over what to do. He knew it wasn’t fair to push Jaime away with no explanation, but the shock of learning what Tyrion had said to Jaime and that Jaime wasn’t repulsed by it - was in fact the opposite - was almost too much to take in at once. He felt himself teetering on the edge of something, and he knew if he took one more step there would be no way back.

He got to his feet an hour before midnight and made his way back to their room, still undecided on what he was going to do, but knowing that delaying things wasn’t going to make it any easier.

 

When he opened the door, he saw that Jaime had been sitting waiting for him. He jumped up from his chair, looking nervous, as Bronn stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

Jaime had something clutched in his hands.

Bronn’s eyes widened. It was a sword - _the_ sword. Bronn recognised it straight away. It was the Valyrian steel sword Jaime had given to Brienne. The sword which had been kept buried in a chest in Jaime’s room the past eighteen months.

“Bronn,” he said, stepping forward, and Bronn automatically stepped back, and Jaime froze. “I’m sorry about before. I’m an idiot.”

Bronn stared at him, unsure what was happening. Jaime took a breath.

“Tyrion thinks you walked away because you were protecting yourself,” Jaime blurted.

Bronn raised an eyebrow, wondering how many details of their relationship Tyrion had been hearing.

“He might have been right,” he finally admitted.

Jaime took half a cautious step closer to him. “I know you think I’m not serious,” he said. Bronn swallowed, watching him edge closer. “But I am. And you’re my best friend and I want-” he cut himself off, struggling, and then thrust the scabbard out in front of him. “I want you to have this,” he said.

“I can’t,” Bronn said firmly. “It was hers.”

Jaime looked almost in pain. “She wouldn’t want…” he took a breath. “Please just take it.”

Bronn hesitated. “Jaime…”

“It’s a good sword,” Jaime said, looking down at it with affection. “She would tell me I’m an idiot for keeping it locked in a chest all this time. It’s meant to be used. And… she would understand. She would want you to have it.”

Bronn wasn’t sure if he was still talking about the sword.

Jaime held it out again. Bronn relented, taking it carefully from him, unsure what exactly he was accepting, but Jaime just looked relieved.

Bronn examined the sword for a moment, and saw the name ‘Oathkeeper’ inscribed on the hilt.

“Thank you,” he said, sincerely, and Jaime nodded.

They stood watching each other for a moment, and then Jaime gave a slight grin. “When Tyrion and I argued, he told me something else,” he said quietly.

Bronn blanched, and fixed his gaze on the sword in his white-knuckled grip. “What?”

“He told me you were in love with me.”

“Tyrion has a big mouth.”

Jaime stepped even closer, his hand coming up to Bronn’s shoulder, then sliding across to cup his neck, and then they were kissing again.

Bronn was honestly surprised at the kissing. He had been with men before, of course, but usually just for practical purposes - kissing hadn’t been what either party was after. So he wasn’t used to the feeling of stubble on Jaime’s jaw. It was different, but not unpleasant. Bronn was also surprised that Jaime, who definitely had never been with a man before, was so apparently fine with this.

Then again, it was probably silly to question Jaime about whether he was comfortable with unorthodox relationships.

The sword was still in Bronn’s grasp between their chests. Jaime gently took it and placed it on the sideboard beside them, his lips never leaving Bronn’s. Bronn wasn't used to having to tilt his head up slightly to kiss, but Jaime's right arm tucked around the small of his back and bent him very slightly backwards, pulling Bronn’s body flush against his, tilting his head naturally at the right angle, and Jaime kissed him enthusiastically. Bronn chuckled against Jaime's mouth as Jaime started to manoeuvre him towards the bed, and went willingly, but they paused when they got to the edge of the mattress. Jaime drew back slightly, his forehead resting on Bronn’s again.

“I haven’t, erm…” Jaime frowned. “You’ll have to show me how this works.”

“We don't have to do anything,” Bronn said seriously.

“I want to. I've been wanting to for a while now.”

“You have?” That was interesting.

“I have,” Jaime replied as he hastily tugged his tunic one-handed over his head, getting it caught on his ears with a muffled ‘mmf’. Bronn moved to help him pull it off, and then his lips were on Bronn’s again as his hand dropped to Bronn’s belt.

“And you?” he asked innocently as he accidentally-on-purpose brushed the top of Bronn’s already hard cock through his pants. He glanced up at Bronn’s short gasp, all confidence.

“Me - _ah_ \- me what?” Bronn asked, gasping as Jaime tugged his tunic free of his waistband and ran his hand over Bronn’s waist and stomach.

“How long have you wanted to?” Jaime asked in a low voice. “Was it since the first day we sparred together?”

“You’re a cocky shit, you know that, Lannister?” Bronn said, and pushed Jaime backwards. He flopped compliantly onto the mattress and Bronn took a moment to enjoy the image of him on his back, almost undressed, waiting for Bronn.

Bronn stepped forward and grasped Jaime's knees, spreading his legs apart enough for Bronn to kneel on the bed between his thighs and then lean forward to kiss him. Jaime wasn't used to spreading his legs like that of course, and frowned slightly as he adjusted, as Bronn's hips put weight on the bottoms of his thighs, and his cock pressed against Jaime's, and Jaime instinctively pressed his hips up to meet him.

Bronn growled and pressed Jaime into the mattress, rolling his hips gently and kissing down Jaime’s neck and shoulder, one hand threading through Jaime’s hair, messing it up.

Jaime grasped the back of his neck again, pulling him back up and claiming Bronn’s mouth again, and then he tugged at Bronn’s tunic, urging it up towards his head. Bronn pushed back, pulling his tunic off in one movement and then tugging Jaime’s breeches down.

Jaime assisted, lifting his hips to slide them and his underclothes down at once, and kicked them off onto the floor.

Bronn sat back on his heels and looking down at him, spread out, completely naked, for him. Jaime just grinned, the exact opposite of shy, and reached for Bronn, hooking his legs around Bronn’s hips again, and gasping when Bronn ground against him, hard.

Then, to Bronn’s shock, Jaime reached across to the nightstand and picked up a small jar of oil which Bronn hadn’t noticed there before, and passed it to him.

“...where...?”

“Tyrion.”

“Of course.”

Jaime bit his lip in an eager grin as he rolled his hips up against Bronn’s again, and Bronn groaned.

“Jaime… we don’t have to,” he said gruffly.

“I want to,” Jaime said.

Bronn didn’t need any further encouragement.

He lifted one of Jaime’s legs over and put it together with the other one, rolling him on his side, then pushed both knees up towards his chest, exposing his pretty arse.

“How does it work?” Jaime asked, looking around at Bronn, his eyes going a little wide, and Bronn just stroked his arse cheek soothingly. “Relax, Jaime. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Bronn reached for the jar of oil, and Jaime watched as he unscrewed it and dipped two fingers in, coating them evenly, and Bronn could distinctly feel Jaime’s breathing increase as Bronn lay back on his side, propped up on his other elbow, and made a slow gentle stroke down Jaime’s crack. Jaime shuddered, and Bronn took his time doing nothing more than that, spreading the oil around, stroking gently.

Then he pressed for the first time tentatively at the edge of Jaime’s hole with one finger, and Jaime groaned.

“Good or bad?” Bronn asked, glancing up at him. Jaime wasn’t looking at him.

“I don’t know,” Jaime gasped into the pillow and Bronn circled his entrance very gently, massaging a little at the edges, and noted with approval that Jaime’s cock was already rock hard. He sat up and reached for Jaime’s upper knee, tugging it back across his body, opening his legs wide again, and Jaime let him but looked wide-eyed and extremely vulnerable, unsure what Bronn was doing.

“Hold here,” Bronn said, and Jaime replaced Bronn’s hand, holding his left knee pulled up towards his chest. This position spread him wide open, giving Bronn access to his entrance but also his straining cock, and Bronn closed his free hand around it firmly.

Jaime’s eyes fluttered closed as Bronn started to slowly pump him, not intending to go far with it, but wanting him to calm down a bit. After a moment, when he saw Jaime exhale and relax slightly, he returned to circling Jaime’s hole, now spread wider, and pushed a little further inside.

After a minute, he had worked his index finger in up to the first knuckle. With the oil, it went easily, but Jaime was as tight as fuck, and Bronn knew it probably felt like a much bigger invasion. Bronn rested there, still pumping his cock slowly.

“Alright so far?” Bronn asked, and for a moment Jaime seemed unable to answer, his chest heaving, his face flushed pink.

“I don’t know,” he said again, anxious. “How far are you…?”

“Just one knuckle.”

“And how far will you…?”

“Only as far as you want, love,” Bronn said, and he saw Jaime’s adam’s apple bob at the endearment, and he gave a slight nod, and Bronn returned to his task. He circled his finger around, spreading the oil, before pressing forward again, and this time he was a little less gentle, because he knew he was almost there, and he got to his second knuckle and then-

He looked up at Jaime with a broad grin as Jaime made a noise he’d certainly never heard out of the man before, and he started to press rhythmically against Jaime’s spot, and Jaime tilted his head back and gave a gasping moan.

_“Bronn-”_ he ground out, and to Bronn’s surprise, he felt Jaime’s balls tightening under his fist, and quickly stopped everything he was doing, sliding his finger out. He didn’t want him to finish just yet. Jaime groaned and let his legs flop down. Bronn patted his thigh affectionately.

“You’re not getting off that easy, Ser Jaime,” he chuckled.

“What _was_ that?” Jaime asked hoarsely.

_“That_ is what I plan on doing to you for the next hour at least,” Bronn said casually, running a finger absently over Jaime’s hip. “Well. If you last that long.”

Jaime huffed and Bronn crawled up his body again to kiss him, on knees and elbows framed over his sprawled body, and Jaime kissed back lazily, bunching a hand in the waistband of Bronn's pants which were so loosened they were in danger of just sliding off, but he'd rather they weren't both naked just yet - he was trying to go slow.

Supporting himself on one elbow, he reached with his other hand back down between Jaime’s legs and pressed his finger back into Jaime's now slicked entrance. It went more easily this time, but he still felt and heard Jaime's sharp intake of breath and the tension inside him increased the further Bronn pushed.

“Relax,” he said gently. “Breathe.”

Jaime nodded and Bronn kissed him, distracting him as he worked his finger all the way in and wiggled it around, spreading the oil, then gave one tentative movement slightly out then all the way in again, making sure to press against Jaime's spot as he went. This drew a gasp from the other man, and Bronn sat up to watch his face more carefully. His eyes were squeezed shut and a bead of sweat was making its way slowly down his temple.

Bronn moved out and in again, a little further this time, sliding pressure against the spot, and Jaime shuddered. Bronn smirked, pleased with the reaction, and began to fuck Jaime with his finger in earnest, adding his other hand again to gently stroke Jaime's cock. Jaime’s mouth fell open slightly.

His body was relaxing. Bronn took that as his cue to add a second finger. Jaime wasn't expecting it, his eyes opening as he made a somewhat strangled noise, but Bronn just pushed straight through to the spot that made Jaime groan and shudder and relax again.

“That’s it,” he murmured. He slid his fingers in and out in time with his fist pumping up and down Jaime’s cock, and scissored his fingers inside Jaime to loosen him further.

_“Bronn,”_ Jaime groaned, and just the sound of his voice saying his name like that was enough to send sensations shooting straight to Bronn’s cock.

“I think you’re ready,” he growled, and pulled his fingers out, standing to quickly shuck his pants and reaching for the oil. He coated his own cock thoroughly, efficiently, and Jaime watched, chest rising and falling quickly.

Bronn knelt on the mattress again, pushing Jaime’s legs even further apart and sitting the tip of his cock against Jaime’s hole. Jaime’s eyes widened in panic for a moment, and Bronn closed his hand around Jaime’s cock again, squeezing tightly and pumping slightly, waiting until Jaime calmed.

“Are you sure?” Bronn asked, reluctantly, holding himself back with steel will, watching Jaime’s wide-eyed expression. Jaime nodded.

Bronn spread Jaime’s arse cheeks with his hands and eased his cock forward, and Jaime moaned loudly. His eyes locked on Bronn’s, and Bronn was barely inside him yet and Jaime was already starting to shudder, his whole body reacting. He squirmed under Bronn, and he was panting, and Bronn had to clamp down on the sensations building inside him in order to avoid spilling his load far too early.

Even if Bronn had wanted to slam straight inside, he wouldn’t have been able to - Jaime was just too tight. He had to go slowly, gradually easing inside, letting him stretch and adjust to his girth. Every little extra bit he worked inside drew new noises and reactions from Jaime, and Bronn couldn’t quite believe this was real. He paused for a moment when he was halfway in, and Jaime looked up at him and gasped, “Don’t stop.”

Bronn pressed all the way inside. Jaime was starting to relax now, his inner walls loosening slightly, and even before Bronn could do anything with it, Jaime was rolling his hips against him, encouraging him to start moving. Bronn pulled out halfway then thrust back in again, making sure to rub across Jaime’s spot, and started up a slow, easy movement as he eased himself forward onto his elbows again. Jaime lifted his head and their lips met again, but Jaime could barely concentrate enough to do more than pant against Bronn’s mouth, and when Bronn reached down to start stroking Jaime’s cock in time with his thrusts, Jaime’s moans changed again, becoming even more desperate, and Bronn couldn’t quite believe he was the cause of those noises.

He increased his pace, but he knew they weren’t going to reach a point where he was really slamming into Jaime - neither of them could last that long, not this first time, anyway. Bronn felt Jaime’s climax approach, as his inner walls clenched and his balls tightened and he made a noise almost like a sob. Bronn continued pumping into him as Jaime came hard over Bronn’s fist, and then started genuinely shaking, writhing under Bronn, and Bronn tipped over the edge a few seconds later, dropping his head to Jaime’s chest as he stroked through his climax erratically.

He didn’t have too much time to focus on it though, because Jaime’s arms were coming up around him, holding him tightly, then his mouth was seeking Bronn’s again, like he needed comfort.

Bronn kissed him gently. “Are you alright?” he asked with half a grin, and Jaime nodded but couldn’t reply. His body was still shuddering, like he couldn’t breathe, and he gripped Bronn’s shoulder, holding him close against him.

Bronn eventually grew soft enough that he slipped out of Jaime, and by that point Jaime seemed to be at least breathing normally again, so Bronn shifted off him, to the side, and pulled him back against his chest, holding him tight through the occasional aftershock.

“I didn’t hurt you?” Bronn asked a little apprehensively once Jaime’s body had calmed down and he thought he might be able to speak again.

Jaime shook his head, and said huskily, “Can it be like that every time?”

Bronn grinned. “Well, I’ll do my best.”

  
  


_Epilogue_

 

The war did eventually end.

And finally the day came. They came over the rise in the path and drew their horses to a halt as they caught their first glimpse in the distance of Casterly Rock.

“Ser Bronn, as promised, one castle,” Jaime said with a flourish.

Bronn scowled. “It’s not really mine though, is it,” he stated grumpily.

“Of course it is,” Jaime insisted. “You’re welcome to slave over the accounts and order around the servants and throw parties and whatever else you want to do. I’m giving it to you.”

“And then _I’m_ giving it to _him_ ,” Bronn stated, nodding down the hill at little Tylar, Tyrion’s second son, five years old and already confidently riding his own horse. Bronn and Jaime were to ward him at Casterly Rock with the plan that he would eventually inherit the place.

“Well, yes, unless you plan to father any of your own heirs?” Jaime teased, and Bronn just rolled his eyes. “It’s not what you were hoping for?” Jaime asked, actually looking a little hurt.

“The deal was a castle in my name,” Bronn complained, allowing a small smirk to let Jaime know he was just teasing.

“It _is_ in your name, Ser Bronn Lannister,” Jaime grinned.

Bronn snorted. Tyrion had convinced Danaerys to naturalise him, claiming he had discovered that Bronn was actually descended from a long lost line of Lannisters, in a ceremony that Bronn hadn’t quite understood the significance of until Jaime had dragged him to bed afterwards and delighted in calling him Ser Bronn Lannister over and over again.

“A castle,” Jaime said, waving his arm at the sight, “a lordship,” he imitated a bow to Bronn, “and a highborn beauty. Well,” Jaime shrugged, “I suppose that’s me.”

“Bet your arse, it is,” Bronn muttered approvingly and Jaime grinned.

“Can we consider the debt paid, then?”

Bronn nodded. “Pleasure doing business with you, Ser Jaime.”

“A Lannister always pays his debts,” Jaime recited, and Bronn nodded grudgingly.

“Aye, we do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’d like more Brome smut (with bonus Brienne!) see my other fic ‘Try Before You Buy’. 
> 
> I think this is the only multi-chapter Brome romance on AO3… I hope someone reads it :) If you got this far, let me know!


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